


You Really Got Me

by thefloragarden



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Confessing Feelings, F/M, Getting Together, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 11:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefloragarden/pseuds/thefloragarden
Summary: You've not had great luck on the dating scene until you meet this new guy, who seems too good to be true. Is he?





	You Really Got Me

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get my mojo back by writing something completely different. This is my first try at a x Reader fic, so if you read, please be kind!

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. It’s been a long shift, made even longer by the fact that Delia didn’t show up, and Alex can’t get here until 3, so you’re stuck staying. Normally you work the morning shift, which gives you afternoons and evenings to focus on school. It’s not a lot of money, but it’s enough, along with your loans, to get by. Okay, sure you eat a lot of ramen, and you share a room with three other girls in a crappy small apartment, but you know you’ll get there one day.

You turn towards the door at the sound of the bell, and take note of the couple coming in. They’re both ridiculously good-looking, suit and heels for the women, while the guy is dressed a bit more casually. You give a brief thought to your own single state and then paste on your best customer service smile.

“Hey there, welcome to Annie’s. What can I get for you today?”

They step up to the counter, and the redhead gives you a grin.

“Afternoon,” she says in a husky voice, “What have you got for sandwiches today?”

You rattle off the day’s specials, and they listen intently, like you’re giving a State of the Union address. You try to keep from staring at them but it’s tough not to. The woman looks like a model, and there’s something familiar about her, tugging at the edge of your memory but you can’t place her. Maybe she’s an actress? You shrug internally and try not to stare at her boyfriend.

He’s gorgeous, tall and built, with dark hair that he’s got pulled back into a half-bun. He’s got a 5:00 shadow even at 2:00 in the afternoon, and eyes that seem to bridge the gap between blue and grey. At first, he looks solemn, almost angry, but then the redhead murmurs something in his ear and his whole face lights up as he laughs.

“I’d love the tuna melt on sourdough with the side salad, and…” the redhead turns to her boyfriend, “What do you want? The BLT?”

He nods, “Yeah, that sounds good, two of those on the sourdough also, and a double order of fries, a large salad, and an order of onion rings.” He frowns, staring into space and then looks at you intently. “Make the onion rings a double.”

You blink for a moment as you look at what you’ve written on your pad and then nod. It’s not your place to judge what anyone eats, and you only wish you had that kind of metabolism. They order drinks and head over to take the booth in the corner, falling into easy conversation.

As you’re making your way over to drop of the drinks (an iced tea for her and black coffee for him), you hear her say, “I’m sorry I can’t make it, I know you don’t like going alone.”

You set the drinks and they both murmur their thanks, making eye contact as they do so. They’re already on your list of favorite customers for the day. As you glance down, you notice the gleam of metal and realize the man has a prosthetic arm, and from the looks of it, it’s cutting edge tech.

You hear him laugh as you start to clear the booth next to them.

“Don’t even worry about it, Nat. I know you don’t like the Giants anyway.”

Without thinking, you glance over at him. The Giants are a local band, their lead singer happens to be one of your many roommates (and best friend), and they’re playing a gig tomorrow night. You’ve never seen this guy at one of their shows, but you tend to hang out at the back. You don’t like crowds.

When you come back to drop their food, the redhead starts chatting.

“Have you worked here long? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” She’s smiling, friendly.

You smile back. “I’m not usually on for lunches, I work the early shift, I’m generally out by noon.”

“Ahh,” she says and takes a big bite of her tuna melt, somehow managing to look both flawless and completely in control as she does. She chews and swallows. “Damn, that’s good. Anyway, that explains it. We don’t tend to be up before noon unless we’re working, right?”

You glance at him, realizing he’s gazing up at you with a small smile. You feel your cheeks flush a bit; he really is ridiculously good looking.

“It lets me have my afternoons for school and homework,” you say, setting down the last of the guy’s order.

“Oh, you’re in school? What are you studying?”

You nod, trying not to feel embarrassed that you’re still an undergraduate at your age. “I’m finishing my bachelor’s in forensic psych. I go part-time because…” your voice trails off and you cough awkwardly, reminding yourself that these folks don’t care. “Just, you know. Money.”

The guy speaks up then, and his voice is rough. “I think that’s amazing, putting yourself through school. You gonna go investigate crime?”

You laugh, “I don’t really know. Maybe grad school, maybe take some time off. I haven’t figured it out yet. Anyway, enjoy your lunch,” and you turn to walk away.

You can’t get them out of your mind as you go about the rest of your day. They’d been polite, made funny conversation, and left a great tip. You sigh wistfully for a moment, wondering what it would be like to have a guy like that. Your own luck in that department has been, well, bad, and a couple of years ago, you’d decided that you just weren’t going to waste your time anymore. You’ve got more important things to do.

The next evening finds you wandering down the street from your apartment to the bar where your friends are meeting. You’re tired, it’s been a long week with two midterms and a paper, and honestly, you just want to go to bed. You promised Alina you’d be there, and you figure that at least you managed to get showered and changed, but you drew the line at getting fancy. It’s a warm night for October, and you’ve got on ripped jeans, your favorite battered converse low-tops, and a vintage baseball shirt with a flannel tied around your waist. You know you look like a fugitive from the 90s, but it’s comfortable.

The band’s already on stage by the time you get there. It’s crowded, to be expected on the Friday night of midterms week, and you push way over to the bar. You like to put yourself in the corner, it makes it easy to get drinks and your back is protected, but when you get to your usual spot, there’s someone already there. In the low light of the bar, all you can see is the back and broad shoulders of a man leaning over the bar, ordering a drink, and you sigh and shove in next to him, determined to claim your space.

Then he turns to face you, and you recognize him as your gorgeous customer from the day before. His eyes widen and he clearly recognizes you too, as he smiles.

“Hey,” he says, and you have to lean in a bit to hear him over the sound of the band. “From the cafe, right?”

“Yeah, I’m Y/N,” you say. "What's your name?"

“I’m, err. James.” He pauses and a look you can’t quite interpret crosses his face, but then he smiles again. “You a fan of the band?”

You grin and roll your eyes, “I don’t have a choice, the lead singer’s my roommate and they rehearse in our garage.”

He laughs, and then says, “Can I, err.” He looks a bit bashful, “Can I buy you a drink?”

There’s something about his face that nags at you. Just like with the redhead, you’re pretty sure you’ve seen him before, not including lunch at the cafe. Between work and school, you don’t have much time (or money) for popular culture, so he could be a famous actor for all you know. You snap back to the moment at hand, where he’s waiting with a hopeful look on his face.

“Um,” you say cautiously, “Yeah, okay.” You hadn’t been planning to drink, you’re tight on cash at the moment, and you can’t help but think of the redhead who’d been so nice. “I can’t return the favor though, I’m broke.”

He just smiles. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not anymore.”

“You on your own tonight?” You ask casually, wondering what he’ll say.

He looks confused and then says, “Yeah, everyone’s out of town on a…” He cuts himself off. “Yeah, work stuff.”

“What do you do?” you ask curiously and he bites his lip for a second as if thinking and then says, “I’m in… law enforcement.”

“Oh really? You work for the city?”

He shakes his head. “Related to the Feds.”

As the evening progresses, you learn that James is born and raised in Brooklyn, just like you, moving back a couple of years ago after several years away. You both shy away from the more serious topics, but it turns out he’s got a reading list that matches yours and a dry wit that has you laughing more than not. You spend so much time talking that you don’t even notice that the show is done until the lights come up, and you blink at each other in surprise.

All of a sudden, there’s a warm, sweaty body draped around your neck, and Alina winds her arms around your waist and leans in to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Y/N,” she croons, “Did you enjoy the show?”

You feel guilty as you say, “Of course, babe, you were brilliant as usual,” since you really hadn’t been paying attention.

“We’re heading over to Mac’s for food, you want to come?”

“Can’t do it,” you shake your head, “No cash. I gotta get to bed anyway, I barely slept this week.”

“How’d Cog Psy go?” she asks and you feel a fierce grin cross your face.

“He’s already posted them, 97.”

She cheers and then waves across the room to Daveed, the drummer. “So great, babe, so proud of you.” She presses another kiss to your cheek. “Let’s celebrate tomorrow, okay? I’ll make pancakes.”

She makes her way across the emptying-out bar, and you watch her go, affection swirling in your chest. Alina is something else, six feet tall with rainbow colors swirling through her hair and tattoos up and down her arms. She’s one of the smartest people you’ve ever known, for all she dropped out of school at 16. She’s the one who convinced you to go back and give college a try, and gave you a home when you had nowhere to go, and she’s always, always had your back.

“Wow,” James says, “She’s amazing.”

“Right?” you agree with a grin.

He looks away for a moment and then says with forced casualness, “Are you and she…”

You’re confused and know you look it. “Are we what?”

“You know,” he says, not meeting your eyes, “Dating?”

You burst out laughing, “Me and Alina? Oh god, no. She’s amazing and I love her more than anything, but no. Besides, she and Daveed are together. I’m single.”

He looks surprised and then a small smile that looks almost pleased flickers around the edges of his mouth.

“Can I walk you home?”

You frown at him. “I just live down the street.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “It’s late and my ma would’ve skinned me alive if I let a lady walk home late at night.”

You roll your eyes, amused. “Old-fashioned parents, huh?”

“You have no idea,” he mutters and then gestures toward the door.

Two days later, he shows up at the cafe. It’s the mid-morning lull, so you and Stephan are talking as you wipe down the tables and Stephan lounges behind the counter. There aren't any customers, so you’ve got the music up a bit, and Stephan leaps to turn it down when the door opens and James walks in.

You find yourself smiling widely and remind yourself that he’s taken. He hadn’t talked much about his girlfriend, but he also hadn’t made any sort of a move, so you figure he’s a decent guy. You’re not the type to cheat or help a cheater, but maybe, you think, ignoring the way it feels like there's a sparkler in your stomach, maybe you can be friends. You haven’t made a new friend in a while.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, his grin matching your own, “How’s it going? Thought I’d get some coffee before work.”

“Well,” you say, gesturing grandly to the empty room, “I’m not sure we’ve got anything left for you,” and James snorts.

After that, over the next few weeks, it seems like you run into him regularly. He stops by for coffee and ends up late for work when you get to talking.  You have a passionate discussion about webcomics in the produce section of Mrs. Lopez’s bodega. You both end up at a reading by one of your favorite authors at the local bookstore and he takes you out for hot chocolate afterward. He asks for your number, and before you know it, you’re texting regularly, sending each other silly memes and comics.

You can’t help but feel a little uneasy, but he’s never been anything but entirely appropriate, friendly but a bit reserved, and you can’t help wondering what else he’s not telling you, as he never mentions his girlfriend. He also doesn’t seem to want to talk about work, just says, when you give him shit about having such a flexible schedule, that he’s between missions right now.  Instead, he focuses on you, asking about classes, laughing at your stories about your coworkers and roommates. He shares tidbits of himself - he’s clearly brilliant, well-traveled, and has an interesting perspective on global events (opinions that make you suspect he’s ex-military, and given the arm, probably has been up close and personal with some of those global events).

You have to keep reminding yourself that you’ve only known him a few weeks, and that there’s a lot you don’t know, because so far, he seems amazing. Sweet, funny, caring and respectful. He’s a good friend, you remind yourself, and that’s all he can be. He’s almost too good to be true.

One day, while you’re sitting at the student center, waiting for your evening class to start, your phone rings, and when you pull it out, it’s James.

“Hey,” you answer, a bit surprised, as you don’t really talk on the phone, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he sounds a bit out of breath, “Just. I just got off the train, had to spend the day in Manhattan, and I hate the subway at rush hour. What are you doing?”

“Just hanging out,” you say.

“Cog Psy, right?” he asks and you feel a bit of a thrill that he remembers your schedule.

“Yeah, I can’t believe it’s finals in two weeks. How was the city?”

You can almost hear the shrug over the phone, can picture his face making that funny, scrunched-up expression he gets. “It was fine. I was at Stark all day, so…” his voice trails off as he realizes what he’s said. It’s more than he usually shares.

You cough and try to find the right words to let him know that you’re here, willing to listen to anything he wants to say, but not wanting to push him.

“Err, so how was that?”

You can hear the inhale and then he says quietly, “It was okay. They were doing work on the arm, upgrades to the sensors and stuff. It’s always a bit disorienting.”

“I can imagine,” you breathe, trying to picture it. “Does it hurt?”

“Some, I guess,” he says quietly. “I’m wiped, gonna make it an early night. Have a good class, okay? I’ll, um, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good night,” you whisper to the beep of the disconnected call.

The next morning, he’s waiting at the door when you get to the cafe at 5:00 to open up. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets and looks miserable.

“James,” you say as you hurry up, pulling the keys out of your pocket. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

He shrugs and follows you into the dark cafe. You leave the main lights off and head behind the counter to flip on the coffee makers. The bakers usually leave the kitchen lights on when they leave at 4:30, and you know Mike the cook will be there at 5:30 for your 6:00 opening. James slides onto one of the stools at the counter and rests his head in his hands for a moment.

Without thinking, you reach out and press a hand to his shoulder. “What is it? Are you okay?”

He looks up. “I didn’t sleep at all last night, I just. I was thinking.”

“Okay,” you say, a bit confused. “About what?”

“About you. And me. And all the things you don’t know.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you say softly. “It’s okay. And,” you look away and swallow, “There’s things you don’t know about me either.”

He smiles sadly. “But I want to know them, I want you to tell me, and I want to tell you. But I’m afraid…” his voice trails off and you stare at him.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid,” he says and pauses. “I’m afraid that if I tell you, you won’t like me anymore.”

“James,” you reach out again and brush your hand over his arm. “I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me that would change how I feel about you. I think you’re great.” And then, without meaning to, you continue, “In fact, that’s sort of the problem.”

His eyes widen and he just looks at you.

“Just,” you say self-consciously, and turn away to start brewing the regular coffee, “It’s just. You’re really pretty special, and…”

“And what?” he asks and there’s a note in his voice you haven’t heard before, strong and hopeful. “And what, Y/N?”

“And you have a girlfriend, okay?” you say, spinning around to face him, your voice suddenly forceful in the early-morning quiet of the cafe. “I mean, you’ve only ever been friendly and you’ve never, you know. Crossed any lines and I know you don’t feel about me that way but I just can’t help…”

His eyes are wide as he stares at you, looking genuinely baffled. “What are you talking about?”

“Your girlfriend? The redhead? From lunch that first day?”

You can’t understand why he bursts out laughing. And then he gets up, and oh, he’s coming back behind the counter to where you’re standing. He reaches out to trace the back of his hand down the curve of your cheek, so gentle, it breaks something open inside of you.

“James,” you whisper, “Please. We can’t.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he whispers, moving in closer.

Now it’s your turn to stare at him. “What?”

“The redhead? Nat? She’s not my girlfriend. She’s great, I love her to death, but no, she’s a friend. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

His fingers trace along the curve of your jaw now and you shudder under his touch.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” he whispers, “You were always so careful and I figured I’d just follow your cues, because I just want to be in your life, any way you’ll have me, but if you…”

You’re not sure who moves first, but then you’re in his arms and he’s kissing you, right there between the cash register and the pastry case, he’s kissing you and it’s more than you ever even imagined. And, if you’re being honest, you’ve imagined a lot.

His mouth slants over yours, hot and demanding, and you give yourself over to the kiss. His arms, flesh and metal both, slide around you to hold you, cradling you like you’re something precious to him. He kisses you like he can’t let go, like he’ll never get enough, like he’s desperate to be near you, and you, you’ve never been kissed like this before, never felt this way before.

Too soon, he pulls back to press his forehead to yours and the smile on his face takes your breath away.

“There’s so much I need to tell you,” he starts and then curses as his pocket starts to vibrate. When he pulls out the phone, he looks at the screen and then blanches, looking around wildly.

“Shit, I have to…” and then the door to the cafe opens, and dear god, that’s Captain America leaning in, and in the early light of the rising sun you can see the redhead next to him, and then it clicks who she is.

“Bucky,” Captain Rogers shouts and James turns and then glances back at you and the look on his face is anguished, “Buck, c’mon, we gotta go NOW.”

James reaches out one hand to you, fingers ghosting along your cheek, and then he’s gone, following the other Avengers out the door, leaving you standing there, alone in the cafe, shaking and wondering.

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

The next time you see James — _Bucky_ —  hours later, it’s on the screen of your tv as you watch footage from the battle that’s being waged right now, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. He’s in full tactical gear, all in black, the gleaming metal of his arm exposed, his face grim behind the mask as he shoots, again and again. You wonder at the technology that allows the world to watch the battle up close, and you wince as there’s an explosion off the side of the ship he’s on and the news commentator clearly feels the same way.

“That was a close one for the Winter Soldier. James Buchanan Barnes, rescued from Hydra by his best friend Captain America, now fighting alongside the Avengers. It’s a story the world is familiar with, of course,” the newscaster says and you bury your face in your hands.

Yeah, you know the story, and you can’t believe you didn’t put the pieces together. You even knew he’s a Brooklyn boy, but you just never connected James, your James, your sweet, funny James who loves coffee and tulips, who reads fantasy fiction like it’s going out of style, who was always so interested in everything you were learning in school, with this man. It’s hard to reconcile.

This man is a warrior, battle-hardened and scarred. You know he was a weapon under Hydra, and that he broke seventy years of programming for his best friend. You know he’s fought and he’s killed, and he’s suffered more than you can comprehend.

Alina drops onto the couch next to you, and drapes an arm around your shoulders. “How're you doing, babe?”

You lean back and snuggle against her. “I don’t even know. I mean, talk about a roller coaster? One minute we were, you know…”

“Sucking face,” she says helpfully and snickers when you elbow her exasperatedly.

“Yeah, that. And then, it was Captain Fucking America, Al. Just coming through the door and James didn’t say anything, he just ran.”

“I’m guessing that’s not how he was going to tell you, huh,” Alina observes and you sigh.

On the tv, the battle appears to be over, and you see the Avengers gathering in the center of the ship’s deck, huddled together as they talk, and the newscaster drones on.

“Yeah,” you say morosely. “I mean, it’s a lot to take in.”

“Does it change anything for you?” Alina asks, her gaze shrewd as she looks at you.

You look away, feeling the flush on your face. “No. I don’t think it does,” you say softly, “I mean, if anything, it makes me feel… more. I’ve always thought he must be an amazing guy, to break that kind of programming. He was a victim.”

“And you know something about that,” Alina says, and you nod.

“I do.”

“You gonna tell him?”

Alina knows. She was there when you finally found your voice, when you broke free. She met you at Port Authority and took you home to Brooklyn, held you while you wept, and gave you space to heal. She knows what you come from, and she knows how far you’ve come. And she knows you don’t tell anyone, ever.

You sign, rub your hands over your legs and then nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

Alina’s eyes widen but she offers no commentary.

“I mean,” you say, looking down at the floor, “Like, maybe he’ll get it? But also, he’s a public person.” _An Avenger,_ your mind tells you helpfully. “And I’m a PR nightmare, so I should tell him, let him change his mind.”

Suddenly Alina stiffens next to you, and you hear screaming from the tv and you turn, and there’s a fight raging on the screen. Apparently, one last pair of aliens have broken through and landed on-board the ship and the Avengers are fighting for their lives. Even as you watch, you see James hurled onto the deck, where he lies, crumpled and still and then the feed goes black.

You spend the next several hours pacing, chewing at your thumbnail and trying not to cry. There’s nothing on the news channels, and of course, everything online is dramatic headlines and clickbait, with no real information, and you realize, you have no way to find out, no way to reach anyone.

You try texting him, knowing it’s futile but it’s all you have.

Alina tries to get you to sleep, pulling you into her bed, where you lie, Daveed wrapped around you from one side and Alina from the other, and you listen to them breathe as you wait and you worry.

“You really love this guy, huh?” Daveed whispers and you roll over to face him, his dark eyes gleaming in the glow of the nightlight - Aline hates the dark.

“I don’t know,” you whisper back. “Can you love someone that fast? And it’s like, I know him but only that part of him that he showed me, he kept so much hidden.”

“I don’t know,” Daveed says. “I mean, you’ve been hanging with him a bunch, seemed pretty real from where we were sitting.”

“I could,” you say quietly, feeling the truth of it settle in your heart, “I could love him, if he’d let me. Oh god,” and finally, finally you start to cry. “What if he’s dead? What if I’ve lost him?”

And your friends hold you, offering wordless comfort as the sun starts to rise.

You give up on sleep, take a shower and settle at the kitchen table. You don’t have to work today, didn’t have much of anything planned but some studying that you know you won’t get that done today. You think about trying to find James, but give it up for hopeless. If he’s alive, he may still be on the other side of the world. All you can do is wait.

An hour later, there’s a pounding on the door, and you and Alina stare at each other as Daveed gets up to answer it. You grasp your coffee mug in shaking fingers and wait, hearing urgent voices in the hallway and then Daveed comes in, followed by the redhead.

Now that you know who she is, you can’t believe you didn’t see it.

“Ms. Romanoff,” you say, getting to your feet, and you’re shocked when she comes forward and pulls you into a rough embrace.

She’s filthy, still in battle gear, and has a bruise blooming across one cheek but she’s smiling and you close your eyes in relief.

“He’s alive,” she says and then looks at you. “Will you come?”

You nod and grab your bag. “Of course.”

On the ride into the city, Nat (as she insists you call her), fills you in. Bucky, as she calls him, of course, took a hard hit, and was out for a while but he’s okay. Broken ribs, thirty-seven stitches and a broken leg, but he’s alive.

“He was afraid you wouldn’t come,” Nat says as you move over the bridge and into the city.

“What?” You turn from where you’ve been staring out at the window, trying to wrap your head around all this, “Why would he think I wouldn’t?”

“He was afraid you wouldn’t want to be with him, because of who he is.”

You make a face and sigh. “Honestly, it’s more likely the other way around.”

Nat looks at you curiously but doesn’t say anything.

“I just, there’s things about me James doesn’t know either.”

“James?” Nat asks and then laughs. “Gosh, no one calls him that.”

You shrug, “Well, that’s how he introduced himself to me.”

Nat just nods, and then looks up as the car pulls into a basement parking garage. “We’re here.”

You get out of the car where you’re met by two men, and you realize that you’re standing in front of Captain America and Falcon and your mouth goes dry. What on earth are you even doing here?

Captain Rogers reaches out a hand that is approximately the size of a dinner plate. “Hey, I’m Steve, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Y/N,” you say, shaking his hand, “It’s good to meet you.”

“Sam,” says the other man and gives a wave. “Let’s head on upstairs.”

They flank you as you move towards the elevator, and suddenly your heart is pounding, as you realize you’re going to see James soon.

You turn to Steve ( _Steve!_ ) and ask, “He’s really okay?”

Steve smiles gently and pats your shoulder. “He’s gonna be fine. It looks rough but most of it’s just surface damage. And, err,” he looks uncomfortable for a moment, “He heals fast.”

“How did you even know to find me?”

You’ve been wondering this since you got in the car, how they’d known where you were, who you were.

Steve snickers, “Buck hasn’t shut up about you for weeks, Y/N.”

You flush. “Wait, what? I didn’t know he had told you guys about me. I mean, not you specifically because I didn’t know, you know.” You sigh, “I didn’t realize who he really was. God, I’m an _idiot_.”

“No,” this is from Sam, who’s standing at the back of the elevator, “No, you are _not_. He was planning to tell you, he felt like shit that you didn’t realize, but I think he was also, I don’t know.” Sam pauses, thinking a bit, “Like, I think he was excited to be with someone where he could just be himself, you know? Without all the rest hanging over him.”

You nod, you’d kind of come to that conclusion yourself at about 3 this morning. “I figured as much. I can understand that,” you say quietly.

The elevator slows and then stops, and the doors open.

“C’mon,” Steve says, and ushers you out. “This way.”

You make your way down the hall of what is clearly a medical unit. There are doctors and nurses, and they nod, apparently used to the sight of Avengers. One reaches out and waves at Nat.

“Come on, girl,” she says, her tone suggesting she will accept no nonsense of any sort, “Get in here, we gotta get you checked out and cleaned up.”

Nat rolls her eyes but peels off from the group. “Tell Bucky I’ll see him later,” she says, and with a shock, you realize she’s talking to you, and you nod, wondering what you’ve done to earn your place among these people.

And then you’re at the door. Steve pushes it open and says, “Hey, Buck. We’re here, can we come in?” and then you hear his voice and realize you’re shaking.

“Yeah,” he says, “C’mon on.”

He sounds down, almost defeated as Steve pulls back the curtain and then his gaze falls on you and his face just lights up as your eyes meet. You stumble forward and you hear Steve say with a gentle laugh, “Hey, we’ll be outside,” but you don’t even look at him as you move towards the bed.

It’s a step or two up from a standard hospital bed, cranked all the way up so that James is sitting. He’s bare-chested, and his ribs are strapped. You can see the bruises under the bandages, one leg is in traction, and his face is battered, but he’s here, he’s alive, and you move forward, tears filling your eyes.

“Hey, hey,” he says, frowning when he sees your face, “Y/N, what is it?”

“I thought you were dead,” you whisper as you drop into the chair by his bedside.

He reaches out one hand to touch your face and winces, the movement clearly painful. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

You shake your head and wipe your eyes. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” he says softly, and you sigh and shrug.

“First of all, now that I know who you are, well. I guess I know what the world knows, but if you want to tell me, I want to listen. And also,” here you force yourself to meet his eyes, “there’s stuff you don’t know about me either.”

He shakes his head. “You can tell me anything, but I already know what I need to know about you. But, I can understand, if it changes things for you, knowing who I am, and what I’ve done.”

“Alina asked me that,” you say, “She asked me if it changed anything for me.”

He takes a deep breath. “What did you say?”

You reach out then, to trace your thumb down the side of his face, gently, mindful of the bruises. He’s so beautiful, even like this.

“I said,” you say, your voice thick, “That if anything, it made me feel… even more. Who you are, it’s amazing to me. I think you’re so incredible, James, and I can’t quite believe you’d want someone like me.”

“But if I do?” he asks, and you can see the smile starting to build on his face as he looks at you, seeing the answer on your face even before you say the words. “If I do want you?”

“You got me,” you say, “As long as you want me.”

There’s a long moment where you look at each other and then he sighs. “I really want to kiss you but these ribs hurt like a bastard.”

He reaches out and threads his fingers through yours and then pulls your hand up to press a gentle kiss to the backs of your fingers.

“We’ve got time,” you whisper, feeling something in chest break open and rise like the sun. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for giving this fic a try! If you enjoyed it, please please leave a comment or kudos!
> 
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> 
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